


Looking For A Lifeline

by mandatorily



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hate Crimes, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:57:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandatorily/pseuds/mandatorily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams don’t live long in the harsh lights of street lamps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking For A Lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> Written for http://au-bingo.livejournal.com/ & the square Sex Workers. Beta'd by the lovely Cady, who is a saint for putting up with me. Obviously any leftover mistakes are all my own and stem from the fact that I wrote this entirely too fast. Also, this is probably not what everyone's looking for when they look for hooker!fic. I'll admit, I haven't read much, so I just sort of took the prompt and went from there. Title is from the Papa Roach song Looking For A Lifeline.

It’s been a slow night. Hell, it’s been a slow _week_ and the growling in his stomach is testament to just how little he’s eaten this month. He digs a hand into his belly, hard, trying to push the walls of his stomach together, maybe fool them into thinking there’s something in there. But it doesn’t work -- it never does. He’s lightheaded, his temples pound with a constant headache and if he had anywhere to go, he’d be there now, prostrate on the bed, trying to eat and sleep at the same time. It does no use to dream, though. Dreams don’t live long in the harsh lights of street lamps.

A guy walks by and Jensen flashes him his best seductive smile. Though, right now, it’s probably a mix between fear and desperation because this guy is big. Massive. And Jensen’s had trouble from guys like him before. The guy’s half a foot away when Jensen’s stomach growls again, so he decides to push the sale. “You lookin’ for a good time, man?” he asks and the giant stops dead in his tracks, turns around slowly, the look he gives Jensen causing a shiver to run down his spine.

“I might be.”

“I’m Jensen. Jen. I--”

“I don’t need your name, boy. You gotta place we can go?”

Jensen swallows the lump in his throat, because he’s wary of the guy, but not wary enough to ignore the fact that it’s half-past three and he’s been standing out here for the better part of four hours and no one else has come by. Most of all, a little apprehension isn’t enough to overcome the fact that he really needs the fucking money. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Just a little rough and demanding. He can deal with that. Jensen clears his throat, says, “Sure, come on,” and leads the guy into the alley behind him.

They’re barely into the shadows when the guy pushes him to his knees, hard concrete digging into his skin even through his jeans. He closes his eyes for a minute, tries to go to that place in his head where he can hide and pretend that none of this is real. He hears the guy’s belt buckle hit the pavement and he’s waiting for the feel of the guy’s dick against his lips when his cheek explodes with pain. The fucker’s hit him with his belt buckle and the pain is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Jensen scrambles, tries to get to his feet, but it’s no use. The guy is everywhere. Pounding his meaty fists into whatever part of Jensen he can reach. Jensen blocks a few blows, but pretty soon it’s more than obvious to him what’s going to happen.

This guy’s going to kill him.

He’s waiting for that one blow, the one that ends it all, actually _praying_ for it when he hears something -- a shout, he thinks -- from the mouth of the alley. He sees something barreling into the darkness, and in his pain-numbed brain it seems like a demon coming to carry him off to Hell. The demon grabs the giant by the throat and tosses him aside like so much garbage and then the demon is over Jensen, reaching for him and Jensen knows this is it. He’ll go to Hell where this pain in his body will live with him forever.

“Oh, God, oh, God,” the demon says and what’s left of Jensen’s brain thinks it’s odd that a demon should call on God. But whatever. He doesn’t care. He just wants everything to be over.

“I’m going to try to lift you,” the demon speaks again and his voice is so soft, so _pained_ that Jensen starts to feel safe. Maybe that’s how they _want_ you to feel, he thinks, so that when you get to Hell it’s a big fucking surprise.

The demon slips his arms under Jensen’s back, his knees and a thousand flames burst through his body. It’s like his blood’s been set on fire and he moans pitifully, the sound of his own voice foreign in his ears. The demon squeezes Jensen, drawing him closer to his body and Jensen tries, but can’t help the scream that bursts out of him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Oh, God. I’m sorry.” 

Jensen’s almost past thinking how strange this demon acts. Shouldn’t they be halfway there now? Shouldn’t this be over and be replaced by some fresh Hell--

“Hospital,” the demon says, interrupting Jensen’s frenzied thoughts and that’s just crazy enough to force Jensen to open his eyes, to see what sort of demon has come for him. He figures they sent some screw-up, since he’s not important and he wants to make it clear that he’s just ready to go to Hell and get his life over with.

“What?” he manages to croak. “Aren’t you taking my soul to your dark lair where I’ll roast for thousands of years or something? Just do that. And stop bouncing me all around.”

The demon laughs, a strangled sound, says, “What? No! I’m taking you to the hospital! You’ve been attacked. I think you’re seriously hurt, man.”

There’s barely enough sense left in Jensen’s pain-shocked brain for him to think how bad it would be for him to show up at the hospital, which will inevitably lead to the cops being called. He’s been hauled into the police station two times in the past month alone and this time they’ll surely send him to jail. Hell he might be willing to do, jail just isn’t an option. “No, no, no,” he stammers. “No hospitals. Can’t. Just take me to the Shelter on 5th. I know a girl there, she’ll let me sleep it off behind the dumpsters.”

“You can’t be serious! This isn’t something you can just _sleep off_. You’re. It’s bad! Look, my roommate -- she’s studying to be a nurse. Maybe she can help?”

“Roommate? You share rooms in Hell? You’re big, bad demons and you have to work out whose torture devices go where?” Jensen’s aware that he’s babbling, but at least it distracts him from the pain. Plus, the sound of this demon’s voice is unlike anything he’s ever heard. It’s soothing in ways he can’t explain and he chalks it up to another of Hell’s tortures, sending smooth-voiced demons to lure you willingly to your doom.

His vision’s starting to go black around the edges and the moans are coming more often when the demon leans down near his ear and says, “Don’t worry, man. I’ve got you. Nothing else is going to hurt you.” The last thing Jensen feels is the demon’s breath, warm and comforting against his ear, before the blackness takes him.

\-----

Jared’s frantic once Jensen passes out, almost decides to take him to the hospital anyway and to Hell with the consequences, but he remembers the look of utter fright on Jensen’s face and changes his mind at the last second. So he takes off running for home, desperate to have Sandy’s opinion on what to do. 

He’s cursing the fact that he didn’t bring his car, that there aren’t any buses or cabs in this part of town, the fact that he hadn’t had the time to properly beat the everloving fuck out of the jackass who did this, cursing his own legs for not being fast enough to get Jensen the help he needs. His brain’s a jumbled mess and he’s never felt so helpless in his life.

A block away from home he picks up the pace, but that only jars Jensen more, causing the other man to moan pitifully and cry out, but he keeps running and finally he’s at the fucking front door, using his foot to bang on it, yelling for Sandy to open up.

“What the Hell, Jared? I have a test in the morning! Do you know how late--”

“Help me, Sandy. Help.” And the fright in his voice spurs her to action.

“Put him on the couch, Jay. Get the First Aid Kit out of the bathroom. And the extra one -- the bigger one -- out of my closet. A huge bowl of hot water and those bandages I was practicing with last weekend. And blankets! Lots of blankets! Turn up the heat! Go!”

His brain can’t process everything, his feet want to go everywhere at once, but finally Jared manages to start collecting the things Sandy wants, dropping off piles of stuff at her feet and running to get the next batch. Once she starts taking Jensen’s clothes off, starts applying the warm water, Jensen screams and Jared runs flat-out into the wall, knocking himself into the kitchen counter.

When everything’s gathered, Jared kneels at the foot of the couch, hands rubbing aimlessly up and down his thighs, wanting so badly to touch Jensen, but unable to find any spot that wouldn’t cause him pain. He wants to ask Sandy how bad she thinks it is. Needs to hear that he did the right thing in not taking Jensen to the hospital, but he’s scared to say anything to her and interrupt her concentration.

After what seems like hours, Sandy covers Jensen with several blankets and turns to Jared. “He’s. He’s hurt bad, Jay. Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?”

Feeling like he’s been kicked in the stomach, Jared says, “He wouldn’t go. Nearly begged me not to take him. You know what he does, Sandy. Can you blame him?”

She shakes her head. “Of course not. I get it. Been there, done that, but sometimes you have to do what’s best for somebody, even if it means they get in trouble, Jared.”

He huffs out a breath. “You’re right. I’m an idiot. I’ll go call 911.”

Jared’s on his way to the phone when a hand reaches out from under the blanket-wrapped cocoon on the couch, latches onto his wrist. “No. Jared? She did say Jared, right? Please. Please,” Jensen pleads, staring Jared down with those luminous green eyes and Jared’s so blown away he’d probably agree to anything.

“Sure, right, man, whatever you say.”

Sandy shakes her head, gathers up the mess she’s made and stalks out of the living room, her opinion on the subject clear in every jerky move she makes. Jared forgets about her anger the minute she’s left the room and sits down in the chair nearest the head of the couch. He clears his throat nervously, not sure if he should talk to Jensen. Not sure if Jensen’s even still conscious. “So, you. Don’t think I’m a demon anymore, huh?”

Jensen manages to laugh but it ends on a groan. “Jesus, fuck, man don’t make me laugh.”

Jared’s instantly contrite, feels stupid for cracking jokes at such a serious time. “Sorry. Sorry--”

He stops dead in his tracks when Jensen’s hand lands on his knee, scrambling for purchase and Jared reaches down to take it in his own. Their hands are of a similar size, Jared’s only slightly bigger, but Jensen’s is pale and shaky and seems _smaller_ somehow, more fragile than it should. Jared’s so caught up in the sight of their two hands pressed together that he nearly misses what Jensen’s saying.

“--never be able to thank you enough, man. You saved my life.”

Everything he might say to that seems stupid and useless in his head so he just nods, squeezes Jensen’s hand and says, “Don’t mention it." He stays silent, hoping the quiet will lull Jensen back to sleep. When it finally does, Jared watches him for hours, until the sun peeks through the curtains, bringing the bruises on Jensen’s face to vivid-color. It’s crazy, but even like this Jared thinks he’s beautiful.

\-----

Jensen sleeps most of the day and when he wakes up he freaks out for a minute, trying to figure out where he’s at. He jostles around, ready to bolt, when the pain hits him hard, sending him falling back onto the couch in a heap. And then he remembers. The beating. The fright. Strong arms and smooth skin in the dark, carrying him to safety. A warm hand holding his as he fell asleep. For the first time in months he feels truly safe, able to relax into the cushions of the couch and let his body heal.

He’s almost back asleep when he sees the sheet of paper on the coffee table and reaches over, moving slowly but wincing and moaning anyway. God, that bastard really did a job on him. Too bad he hadn’t been able to bite the motherfucker’s dick off. He grabs the paper, accidentally crumbling it in his hand as pain shoots through his ribs, but thankfully it’s still legible enough to read. The writing’s a bold scrawl, heavy black strokes against the paper and Jensen smiles, thinking of Jared sitting there beside him writing it while he slept.

Jensen--

Look to the left of the coffee table. That big red bag is full of food that should still be warm. I used to work at a delivery place and snatched one of their hot bags. Behind it is a small ice chest full of water and ice packs. In the drawer that pulls out of the coffee table is all the pain-relievers we had in the house and I left a lidded jar in case you needed to take care of _personal_ business and didn’t feel like walking to the bathroom. I hope I’ve thought of everything. Sandy won’t be home until midnight, but I should be back by six. Until then just make yourself at home. And feel free to move to my bed if you’re able and the couch isn’t comfortable enough. I put new sheets and blankets on it this morning. Whatever you need, it’s yours.

\--Jared

Jensen blinks a couple of times, sure he’s misunderstood the note and wishes he had his glasses to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. This all seems way too good to be true and he feels the urge to run well up inside but tamps it down. He’d felt nothing from Jared but genuine concern and until that changed, he was just going to have to trust him. Although he couldn’t see ever being comfortable enough to move to the guy’s bed.

He manages to slurp down half the soup -- which is a new study in pain -- and three bottles of water before he’s so tired he can’t think straight. He settles himself back on the cushions, tries to watch some TV, but finally the painkillers he chased everything with kick in and sleep comes to rescue him from the pain. The last thing he thinks about is Jared.

\-----

Work’s a struggle for Jared. Usually work’s his favorite part of the day, making him feel accomplished and successful and miles away from where he started in life, but today, all he can think of is getting home. Home, to the gorgeous though slightly damaged man sprawled on his couch.

 _Jensen Ackles_. At his _home_. Just the thought makes Jared want to squee out loud like a little girl and run around in manic circles in the middle of the office. He knows how completely and stupidly selfish it is to be enjoying the fact that Jensen’s bruised and beaten -- and he’s not enjoying _that_ part at all -- but, he’s dreamed of having Jensen alone since he was 13 and Jensen was 17 and yeah, he still can’t feel entirely bad that it’s happened. He’s afraid that means he’s going to burn in a special kind of Hell, but he’s pretty sure it’ll be worth it.

He’s a bit disappointed that Jensen doesn’t remember him, but quells that thought almost immediately. They’d definitely been from opposite ends of the social spectrum. Jared’d been a foster kid, half-homeless most of the time and Jensen was the only son of one of the wealthiest families in the country. It’s no wonder he doesn’t remember the snot-nosed brat who used to show up at every one of his games, looking on with silent adoration. The one time they’d actually talked Jared had nearly had some sort of fit and bit his own tongue off. So, yeah, not exactly a memorable history. And, yet, Jared had never been able to get him entirely out of his head.

All those years he’d spent on street corners, it’d been Jensen’s face he saw below him, Jensen’s voice whispering in the dark, Jensen coming apart in his hands. It had made things easier, and yeah, he was more than aware of how fucked up that was but, he’d been in a fucked up place back then. Things were different now. _He_ was different now.

And this time hopefully Jensen would notice.

The hours drag by as he does mindless paperwork, the only thing he’s even close to being able to concentrate on and when the clock strikes quitting time, he throws on his suit coat and sprints out of the office, taking the stairs so fast he’s down three flights before he knows it. Into the car, zooming through side streets and short cuts, to pick up food and he’s home and through the door before rush hour clogs the streets.

He’s quiet when he enters the house. The TV’s on, covering most of the sounds he makes, hopefully the one that’s torn from his gut when he sees how badly the bruises on Jensen’s face look now. How Jensen looks small and frail and _fragile_ covered in blankets from head to toe.

He doesn’t wake him right away, just gathers what they’ll need to eat, quietly going through the tasks while his mind’s focused on the couch. He clears the coffee table, sets out plates and dinnerware, leaves the living room light on dim and lights a couple of candles. It’s not romantic-looking exactly, so maybe Jensen will think he’s left the lights dim to help with any residual headache he might have. Yeah, Jay, he’ll never notice that this is totally a date in your head, you big, pathetic loser.

Sitting on the floor at the side of the table closest to the couch, Jared watches Jensen sleep for a bit. Pale lashes feather-light against the bruised and battered skin. His breathing’s better, deeper and easier than the night before, without that alarming hitching at the end of the inhale. It’s encouraging to Jared and he’s reluctant to disturb Jensen’s sleep, but figures getting some food into him is just as important. There are way too many angles to Jensen now, wrist and elbow and collarbone sticking out in sharp ridges against his fair skin.

He touches Jensen’s arm lightly and the other man jumps and moans before his eyelids flutter open. The eyes staring back at Jared are wary and guarded, unfocused and clearly still clouded by some of the painkillers he’s taken. So Jared rubs his arm a bit, slow circles against the -- thankfully, cool, no sign of fever -- skin, says, “Hey, Jensen. It’s just me, Jared. I brought food, if you’re hungry.”

“Ye--” he starts, but can’t seem to get his voice to work. He coughs several times, his face scrunched up against the pain -- God, why is that so adorable? Hell, going straight to Hell -- and finally says, “Yeah. That sounds good. Thanks, man.”

Jared unpacks the food -- a mishmash of all the comfort food he could find at the place they always go to on 3rd. Soup, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, cream gravy, cold macaroni salad, things easy to swallow with minimal chewing. 

“Don’t mention it. Sorry about the mixed up menu, but I just thought it’d be easier for you to chew soft stuff. And I didn’t really know what you liked. If you don’t like any of this, I can go out for something else. Cook something, even, if that would be better.” He’s babbling like a crazy person, but can’t seem to stop himself. He wants so hard to impress Jensen, to make him feel better--

His brain short-circuits when Jensen’s hand winds up on his shoulder. “It’s good, Jared. Great. More than you should do. Don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you for all this.” And there’s something in Jensen’s voice, a bitterness that Jared’s never heard before. He remembers the car Jensen used to drive -- slick black BMW -- remembers how money used to come easy to him. How hard did it have to be to go from having everything to working a street corner in order to feed yourself? At least Jared’d never had anything to begin with.

“No talk of repays, Jen. Sorry. Jensen. I just want you to feel better.”

Jensen looks at him through his lashes, “Jen’s good.”

“Okay, then.” They settle into what would be a companionable silence, but Jared’s brain is going about a hundred miles an hour and his stomach’s twisted in a nervous knot. He feels about 15, like he’s trying to work up the courage to kiss someone for the first time. He’s giddy and he feels ridiculous about it.

When he’s sure Jensen’s through eating, Jared gathers up their garbage, tossing everything in the kitchen wastebasket and then doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Usually after work, he’d veg out in front of the TV for a while, catch up on SportsCenter or find something on Animal Planet, but now he’s just sort of standing in the middle of the room, feeling nervous and out of place. “So, yeah. I’ll just go hang out in my room, let you have some privacy.” 

He turns to leave, but is stopped by Jensen’s hand grabbing his wrist. It’s the same one he’d grabbed the night before and Jared’s pretty sure he’s going to be able to feel their skin pressed together in that spot for the rest of his life. “You want to watch some TV?”

Running a hand through his hair, Jared settles himself on the couch near Jensen -- it’s a small couch and he’s not exactly a small man -- so that their bodies are touching all the way from shoulder to thigh. His whole left side feels like it’s on fire, but the good kind of fire that says warm and safe and home and fucking _Christmas_.

And, in spite of how freaked out he is, of how his brain is saying things like _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_ , it’s easy. They like the same teams, they grouse about the same subjects, their opinions are so similar it’s like they’re the same person. It’s startling and effortless and if Jared hadn’t already been half in love with Jensen when the night started, by the end his heart’s gone and he’s pretty sure it’s not coming back.

Then when Jensen’s head falls on his shoulder, Jared’s sure.

\-----

Jensen wakes up alone, the TV muted and all the lights off. Glancing at the clock he sees it’s almost four AM. The last he remembers of the night was about 9PM, when Jared had tried to get him to watch a truly depressing show about Meercats. He glances down the hall, notices Jared’s door is open a crack and it warms something inside of him to think that maybe he left it that way in case Jensen needed him. It’s such a fucking girlish, sentimental thought, yet Jensen can’t help how much he wants it to be true.

It’s too soon to be feeling the sorts of things Jared makes him feel. Too crazy and rushed and _complicated_. Jared’s obviously a good guy, with a good job and a good head on his shoulders. And that’s the word Jensen can’t get passed -- good. Jared’s _good_. And Jensen. Well, he’s just not.

He’s sorer this morning than he has been, if that’s at all possible, but he seems to be feeling like himself a bit. He pads to the bathroom, does the necessary things, then strips off and steps under the shower. He hopes it’s far enough from Jared’s room that he doesn’t disturb him, but can’t seem to resist the temptation of a bath. It’s the first bath he’s had in about two weeks that didn’t consist of baby wipes in the Sip and Sup bathroom and the water on his skin, though it stings, is just this side of heavenly.

He’s drying off when he notices a note stuck to the mirror.

Jensen--

There are some spare clothes in the linen closet, left over from one of Sandy’s boyfriends. I think they’ll fit, or at least they won’t be too small on you. I figured one of the first things you’d want when you felt like getting up is a shower. I hope you enjoyed it.

\--Jared

Jensen shakes his head at the mirror, lays a hand on the paper, touched at how thoughtful Jared is. How he seems to anticipate everything that Jensen might want.

As he’s dressing, he keeps telling himself how stupid he is. _Stupidstupidstupid_. You’re a whore. A male whore and you certainly don’t deserve someone like Jared. Maybe if you still had something to offer him, but not now. Get that thought out of your head, accept his friendship and get out of his hair as soon as you can.

It’s taken an inordinately long time for him to get everything done in the bathroom -- putting on pants almost made him scream -- and the sky’s lightening by the time he makes it back to the living room. Favoring his ribs, he straightens up, folding blankets, tossing soda cans and assorted trash in the wastebasket.

Then he goes in search of food. Not for himself, this time, but for Jared. There’s not much he can offer in way of payment -- hell, he had about four dollars in his sock when the beating started and since his shoes and socks were missing when he woke up, there’s no telling where that money went. But, he can do things for Jared. Make his life easier somehow.

He pulls random ingredients out of the fridge, eggs, butter, milk, bacon, even finds the fixings for pancakes in one of the cabinets. Jensen’s rusty, hasn’t cooked in the three years since he got kicked out of his house, but soon the sounds of sizzling and frying bring it all back and his hands fall into the easy rhythm they’d always had in the kitchen.

He’s just about to plate everything when Jared stumbles out of the hall, hair a wreck around his head and scratching his belly where his T-shirt’s hiked up. It’s possibly the cutest thing Jensen’s ever seen and he just about blurts that out before saying, “I hope it’s okay that I cooked. I thought you might be hungry.”

Jared’s whole face lights up in this smile that’s like sunshine trapped in a halo and sniffs loudly, exaggeratingly. “Yeah, sure, of course. But you didn’t have to do all this. You must still feel like shit.”

He does, but he’s not going to let Jared feel bad about what he’s done. “Nah. I told you I just needed to sleep it off. It’s the universal healer.”

They sit at the small breakfast table, again not speaking, just being together. Jared moans appreciatively at each bite and Jensen’s shocked at how fucking hot he finds that. He thought he’d long since given up the ability to feel desire, but his dick is certainly thinking otherwise, thanks to the sight of a disheveled Jared moaning over food. God, he has it bad.

Breakfast is over much too soon, and Jared glances at the clock and starts rushing around, getting dressed and gathering his things. “Shit. I’m going to be late! I’ll be back around the same time this afternoon. Don’t worry about cooking. I’ll bring something home.”

Jensen’s waiting by the door to lock it when Jared leans in and kisses him full on the mouth. It’s quick, almost too short for Jensen to even notice how well their lips fit together and then Jared’s turning about a hundred different shades of red and stammering about how sorry he is.

Jensen laughs, pulls Jared in by the lapels of his suit coat and just goes with it, kissing him fast and rough and dirty. “Don’t be. Have a good day.”

Once the door’s shut, Jensen leans against it. It’s like he can actually feel the hardened chambers of his heart creaking and cracking and filling up with life.

\-----

Weeks pass and they fall into a comfortable routine. Jared wakes in the morning to the smell of breakfast, leaves for work full on excellent food -- turns out Jensen’s quite the cook -- and full of feelings for Jensen that he can’t even put a name to. Sure, he’s had the crush on him since they were young, but this. This is something different and new and so fucking perfect he never wants it to end.

They spend most of their time together, learning everything there is to know about each other. How Jared paid his way through college by turning tricks -- the relief on Jensen’s face when he heard that was heartbreaking, how Jensen was kicked out of his home and cut off from everything for coming out of the closet. They talk about meaningful things and silly things and the past and the future, until there’s really nothing they don’t know about each other. Jared even comes clean about the crush he’s been harboring.

And, yet, they never venture out of the house for a date. Jensen’s always scared they’ll be seen. His family has people all over the Houston area who keep tabs on him, who make sure, every time he seems to be getting on his feet that the rug is swept out from under him. It’s punishment for the sin they think he’s committed and their way of ensuring that he comes to his senses in time to save his soul.

They’ve been more than careful. No one knows Jensen’s staying at his house except Sandy and she’d never tell a soul. They’ve been through too much together.

So, Jensen’s family is the last thing on Jared’s mind when he gets to work that morning. In fact, the only thing on Jared’s mind is their latest make-out session which ended with him jerking off his frustration in the shower.

He’s just about to sit down in his chair when his boss waves him into his office, claps him on the back, asks him to sit down.

“How’re you doing, Jared?”

“Fine, I guess. Is something wrong?”

His boss hems and haws for a bit, but pretty soon it’s clear what’s happening. He’s being let go. Cutbacks, his boss says, but on his way out of the office, Jared sees the plaque behind his bosses desk stamped with the logo of Ackles Enterprises.

Somehow, someway, they’ve found out and they’re trying to ruin his life so that he’ll turn Jensen out and have nothing to do with him.

Oh, did they fucking underestimate him. He’s too much in love with Jensen for any of this shit to matter. So, they got him fired. There are other jobs -- he shuts down the part of his brain that reminds him of the poor economy, the rent that’s due next week -- better, more rewarding. There’s only one Jensen and no way in Hell does this change anything between them.

He stops at a bar on his way home, reluctant to face Jensen, afraid he might let something slip about what’s happened. He orders a series of whiskeys, downing each more slowly than the last, thinking of just how he’s going to ask Jensen to move in with him. He’d been meaning to do it for weeks, but thought it was too soon. Apparently having Jensen’s family interfere was just the catalyst he’d needed.

Jared’s paying his tab when a guy walks into the bar. He’s loud and rude and big as fuck and it’s _him_. The sorry motherfucker who beat Jensen up.

It’s the last straw in a day that just can’t take another, and Jared throws his money on the bar before launching himself at the guy’s chest.

Each time his fist connects with flesh, he sees the stark bruises that had marred Jensen’s and he digs the punches in harder, trying to hit bone. He feels one of his own fingers break right before people in uniforms are dragging him off the fucker, who, unfortunately, has passed out. Jared’s disappointed he wasn’t conscious for the whole thing. 

He doesn’t resist, just lets the cops take him in, book him, give him his one phone call -- to Sandy, who calls him nine kinds of fool and promises to keep this from Jensen -- and throw him in the drunk tank. Wednesday night must not be a popular night for drinking -- or barroom brawls -- because for most of the night it’s just him and some old wino sharing the cell. He lays out his suit coat on the floor, stretches out as much as he can, since his body’s longer than the cell, and waits for morning.

\-----

Jensen’s frantic when Jared doesn’t come home. Doesn’t believe for one minute the story Sandy’s fed him about Jared working late and sleeping at the office. She’s visibly worried and shuts herself in her room, which leaves Jensen with nothing to do but wander the house and freak out.

He straightens the kitchen, cleans the bathroom, strips the sheets off Jared’s bed and puts them to wash, all the time keeping track of the clock like it’s a countdown. A ticking time-bomb heralding doom.

Finally, as the sun tries desperately to break through the heavy clouds on the horizon, he can’t take it anymore and pounds on Sandy’s door.

She’s blurry-eyed and fidgety from sleep, but he can tell she hasn’t slept much. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, which makes something in his heart clench painfully and he rubs at the place, trying to stamp out the feelings that Jared’s not coming back. “Spill it, Sandy. I can’t take this shit anymore.”

“Jared will _kill_ me, Jen. He’ll never speak to me again.”

“I’ll take care of Jared. You just have to tell me what I need to do.”

She nods, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You’re right; I think you need to know. Could you make some coffee while I get dressed? This isn’t something that’ll stand in the face of no caffeine.”

The coffee’s just finishing when she gets to the kitchen and her appearance causes something in Jensen to curl up in ball and _weep_. Because she looks like someone’s died and he wonders just what sort of news he’s about to hear.

Sandy pours herself a cup, leans against the kitchen counter and stares him down, like she’s challenging him to look away. “Jared lost his job yesterday.”

Well, okay, that’s the last thing he’d been thinking and while it’s bad, at least it’s not catastrophic. Jared’s not hurt. Or _worse_. They can deal with this. Jensen’s just confused, since things had been going so well for Jared at work. “What? Why?”

And, again, her eyes are challenging, hard. “I think you know why.”

It’s like all the bones have been yanked out of his body. Jensen’s lucky there’s a chair behind him, because his knees give out and he falls, ending in a heap on the flimsy piece of furniture and it creaks and moans, threatening to give way beneath him. Appropriate, since the entire fucking world is giving way beneath him.

“Because of me,” he manages to gasp out between breaths. He feels like he’s hyperventilating and he puts his head between his knees. When he thinks he can breathe enough to talk he asks the next logical question, because obviously this isn’t what’s keeping Jared from coming home. “What else? What aren’t you telling me?”

“He’s in jail.”

It’s a good thing Jensen’s already sitting down, because he’s pretty sure that one would have landed him on the floor. “What? Why?”

“On his way home from work yesterday he ran into that guy. You know. The one who beat you up--”

He jumps out of his seat, stopping her from continuing. “Because of me. He lost his job because of me. And now he’s in jail. Because of me.”

“Jensen, that’s not what I’m saying. It’s just--”

“It’s exactly the truth.”

“Look, they said I could be there at 10 to bail him out.”

“Give me the money. I’m going.”

“He’s going to be so pissed at me.”

“I’m sorry. Right now I just really can’t care about that.”

He throws on clothes. Borrowed clothes. Nothing in this house is his. Except Jared. And he doesn’t even deserve him. Sandy lets him borrow her car and it’s strange to be behind the wheel again, because he hasn’t driven since they took his car away a year after his parents kicked him out of the house. He doesn’t take much time to think on what he’s going to do, just lets the car eat up the familiar roads until he’s sitting in the parking lot of the jail and can’t catch his breath.

He feels the familiar noose tightening around his neck, readying to jerk him off solid ground and toss him back into chaos. He should have known all this was too good to be true, his family would never rest until he was back under their thumb and sticking it to some poor, unsuspecting girl.

Once he’s inside the station, it’s a short trip to the right desk and the Bail Bonds guy is waiting for him, thanks to a call from Sandy. They shuffle some paper, he hands over the money and sits down to wait.

Jensen can actually feel the minute that Jared enters the hallway, his body drawn to Jared’s like a magnet. Their eyes meet, briefly, while Jared’s finishing his paperwork, then Jensen inspects him from head to toe. Hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes, clothes torn and dirty and a cast on his hand. All this for me, he thinks, right before Jared’s pulling him into a hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him.

He sputters, so aware of how everyone’s watching. “No, Jared. We _can’t_. Not here. My Dad owns at least half these people--”

Jared puts a finger over his mouth. “I don’t even care. Just kiss me.”

It’s a passionate kiss, for all that it’s a public performance, lips and tongues and teeth and sweet, perfect joy at being together. There are a couple of wolf whistles from some of the office girls, but there’s a general feeling of uneasiness about the whole place. Jensen barely notices because Jared tangles the fingers of his uninjured hand with his and starts pulling him toward the door.

“God, I’m so ready to get home. And shower. And eat until my face falls off. And then I’m sleeping for the rest of the week.”

The drive home is quiet, but full of stolen touches. Jared’s hand high on his thigh, rubbing small circles, knuckles brushing along Jensen’s dick in a slow, deliberate dance. His hand at the crook of Jared’s elbow, nails digging in with each brush of Jared’s fingers on his cock.

They’ve skirted around sleeping together this entire time. They’ve gotten close too many times to count, but Jensen’s always pulled back at the last moment, scared to cross that line with Jared because of all the memories that are tied into sex for him now. He lost his virginity to a guy who paid him for sex. Jensen’s not really sure how you ever get that thought out of your head. But, he’s going to try.

Jared stumbles out of the car, makes a beeline for the front door, clearly of one purpose now that he’s home. Once inside, he starts stripping right there in the living room, loosening his tie and throwing it on the floor, going for the buttons on his shirt as he walks down the hall. Kicking out of his pants at the bathroom door -- and thank God for small mercies, Jensen’s treated to a nice view of Jared’s ass before the bathroom door closes behind him.

Jensen leans against the opposite wall for a while, listening to the water running, trying to make up his mind what to do. Before he can think himself out of it, he opens the door and steps inside.

The bathroom’s full of steam and it relaxes something in Jensen that’s been coiled like a livewire ever since he met Jared. Jared’s humming to himself, tuneless sounds of pleasure as the water eases the strain of sleeping on the hard jail floor.

Taking a deep breath, Jensen slips the shower curtain back, slow, not wanting to startle Jared. Jared’s eyes go wide, his hand stills on his chest where he’d been rubbing soap on himself.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Jared puts the soap down, moving like he’s afraid he’s going to scare Jensen off. Then his hands are on Jensen, unbuttoning his shirt, warm water soaking through the fabric.

They make quick work of Jensen’s clothes and Jared drags him into the shower, doesn’t even bother closing the curtain. Water’s going everywhere in the bathroom and neither of them really gives a damn.

Jared presses him into the wall near the shower head, warm water sluicing over them both, slicking them up, so that their dicks slip and slide against each other, but never with the right amount of friction.

He’s pinned against the wall, Jared’s hand holding both of his aloft, Jared’s teeth nipping at his collarbone, his jaw, his ear. He can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t move, can barely speak, saying things like please and god and want and yes.

And then. Oh, God, then, Jared’s hand is between them, gripping them both, large fingers splayed wide, struggling to hold them both together, to get the slap and slide and slick just right.

They both watch, mesmerized as Jared’s hand works them together in a punishing rhythm, hard and fast and oh so perfect before slowing down, gripping tight at the bases and slipping up and up and oh, god, around the head and then back down, just to start over again.

“You’re fucking evil, Jay. Fucking evil.”

“And you’re fucking beautiful like this.”

“Oh, God,” Jensen says, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall, because he just can’t take all of his senses at the moment. He wants to remember the feel of Jared’s hand rough and perfect, the feel of Jared’s dick, smooth and hot and oh so fucking hard against his own. Wants this one time to wipe out the memories of all the others.

Jared’s rhythm stutters, jerks and his head falls into the crook of Jensen’s neck. “Come on. Come with me,” and he squeezes harder, twisting on the upstroke, once and once more and Jensen feels Jared’s come against his belly, hotter even than the water, like a mark of possession against his skin.

That thought is all it takes to send Jensen over the edge and he likes the thought that he’s marking Jared as his own as well.

They sort of collapse onto each other, the only thing holding them up, the wall behind Jensen’s back, until the water starts cooling down and they start shivering. They clean each other off, finishing their bath in a flurry of hands and freezing water and don’t even bother getting dressed before falling into Jared’s bed.

The last thing Jensen hears before drifting off to sleep, is Jared snuffling into his hair saying, “Love you, Jen.”

He’s barely able to manage, “Me too,” before sleep drags him under.

\-----

Jared leaves the house early the next day, off to find another job and Jensen sets in to clean up the mess they made the night before. He’s starting to feel like a housewife, what with all the cooking and cleaning and he couldn’t be happier about it. Thinks he might even get himself a frilly apron just to see the look on Jared’s face when he wears it.

He’s holding a baking dish when the phone rings and doesn’t bother to set it down, just keeps greasing it while answering the phone. “Padalecki-McCoy residence?”

“Hello, Jensen.”

Jensen drops the baking dish, scattered glass going everywhere as his father’s voice oozes over the phone. “Hello, Father.”

“I know what you’re doing, Jensen. Know about your little boy toy and how you’re playing house. And I want you to know something--”

“Fath--”

“Don’t speak. If you stay with this man, I will ruin him. I’ll make sure that man he beat up in the bar succumbs to his injuries. I’ll make sure he’s convicted and spends the rest of his life in jail where he’ll have all the lovers he can handle and won’t have one minute to think of you.”

Jensen’s head throbs painfully, his mouth goes dry. He starts sucking at the air like a fish out of water, but he can’t manage to say anything. To stand up to his father, to tell him to try whatever he wants.

He just stands there, loud buzzing of the dial-tone in his ear until the phone falls out of his hand and he sinks to the floor amid the broken pottery and his broken dreams.

\-----

Jensen stays on the floor for a while, until all his emotions are spent, then he gets up, cleans up the broken glass and mops the floor. His movements are methodical, putting back the pieces of Jared’s house that he’s disturbed. He doesn’t let his mind wonder what Jared will think when he’s gone. Tries not to think about Jared at all, because every time he does it’s like he’s breaking into a million pieces, like it’s him hitting the floor and shattering just like the baking dish.

With only a small bundle of clothes under his arms -- the ones he arrived in and the first ones Jared loaned him, he locks the front door, closes it behind him, and heads back for the streets.

\-----

It’s been a slow night. Hell, there’s hardly been any other kind since he took up residence at this new, but oh, so similar, God-forsaken corner. His family’s pulled enough strings that people are afraid of him now. He’s tried to leave Houston several times, but his father’s freaks always drag him back, kicking and screaming. They just don’t understand, he’s never going to go back. Never going to be who they want him to be, because he can’t help who he is.

He’s Jensen. And he’s gay. And he’s in love with a man he’ll never see again, they’ve made sure of that. But, it’s best not to go there. He tries not to think about his time in Heaven, since it makes Hell that much harder to take.

A sleek, black car slides along the curve of Jensen’s corner. He doesn’t recognize it, can’t imagine what it’s doing in this neighborhood because people who drive cars like that usually don’t have to pay for what he’s offering.

The window rolls down, but he can’t see into the car, so he walks closer, squinting into the dark.

He blinks several times, trying to clear what he’s sure is a hallucination from his eyes. “Jared?” he asks, and he’s embarrassed by the way his voice squeaks on the ending.

Jared flashes a dazzling smile, but looks up at him through his lashes like he’s shy, which is something Jensen’s never seen Jared do. “Do you know where I could get a good man to share my life with?”

Huffing out a laugh, Jensen says, “Not here. There aren’t any good men here, just us reprobates.”

Jared grabs his hand, brings it to his lips, kissing the palm softly. “We’ll burn in Hell together, then. ”

It’s like someone’s poured hot water on him and he feels the shock of it slide all the way down his backbone and pool into the arches of his feet. Jared’s tongue’s doing fucking awesome things to his hand and it’s an effort to think past the desire flooding his body. This is stupid. So stupid. It’ll never work between them. His family will never let it. And, yet, staring into Jared’s face, so full of hope and promise and _love_ he wants to believe it, wants to think the fairytale might be true.

Trying to change the subject, he asks, “Whose car is this?”

Jared keeps his hand, replaces his tongue with his thumb, rubbing smooth, small circles. “Just a friend. His name’s Misha. He’s recently come into some money -- selling caviar or something. Possibly drugs. I don’t know. I knew him way back when. Used to be a client. Thinks he might be able to help us with our family problems.”

“No. No, Jared. You can’t go against my family. That’s insane!” He struggles to pull his hand away, but Jared won’t let go, just grips it tight, hanging on for all he’s worth.

“I can and I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to have you.”

Jensen’s still pulling on his hand, shaking his head. It’s too much. Too much of what he wants laid out in front of him for the taking. It’s too amazing and it can’t last. “Jared. This is crazy, you know. This isn’t a movie.”

“Nope. This is real. And this is us. And it’s forever. Come on, get in the car. I’m taking you home.”

Home. The word does something funny to his stomach, causing it to plummet and flip in a dizzying sort of way. But he still can’t make himself actually walk around and get in the car.

So, Jared, stubborn, idiotic, wonderful Jared, opens the car door, using it to shove Jensen gently out of the way. He releases Jensen’s hand just long enough to lean back against the car, before pulling Jensen in and settling him against his chest.

“Look. I don’t care what you think, okay? I love you. And you love me. Is it always going to be perfect? Hell, no. Are we going to have an easy time with it? Probably not. But I just don’t. Fucking. Care, Jensen. Please, come home with me. And don’t ever fucking leave me again.”

It’s like something clicks inside of Jensen, maybe that last hard edge of his heart breaking away, because suddenly, looking up into Jared’s eyes, he can see it. He can see their future.

Jensen laughs, settling himself between the vee of Jared’s thighs, leaning in and licking into Jared’s mouth. They kiss like their lives depend on it, until Genevieve down the block yells, “Get a room!”

Pressing their foreheads together, Jared says, “I think we should do what the lady says.”

Jensen nods, pulls away reluctantly, heading for the other side of the car. “Take me home, Jay. Make an honest man out of me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
